Nope. She wasn’t budging from the kitchen. She wasn’t asking about the busted screen door, either, though it was barely hanging by part of one hinge, and whenever the breeze picked up, which was constant as it was chilly and windy, you could hear the whack-thwap! of it banging against the doorway. What’s-his-face from last night was quick and strong (though not quick enough), which bore keeping in mind when she saw him again.
If. If she saw him again.
She wanted to see him again, which was equal parts worrying and thrilling.
“It’s not confetti, dear, it’s fairy bread. I told you that. I’m Meredith Macropi—”
“You told me that, too.”
“—and—oh, here. Come here.”
Lila’s feet were obeying before her brain realized it; she instantly decided the elderly (?) woman was no one to mess with. Lila had been ordered around by the best (and the worst), and she’d been able to ignore just about all of them or wear them out. But here she was, crossing the kitchen and accepting a piece of…
“You said this was fairy bread?”
For that, she got an approving nod. Lila felt herself warming to the intrusive creature and took a bite to cover her confusion.
Fairy bread, it happened, was soft white bread generously spread with salted butter, then drowned in a rainbow of cupcake sprinkles, which, if you were tired from a long weird night and surprised by yet another mystery visitor, you might confuse with piles of confetti. She would have worried about the sugar content if she could stop devouring the stuff long enough. One of those food combos that shouldn’t have worked but did. Like candied bacon. Or chocolate-covered anything.
I’ll just gobble down one or four more. Just to be polite. I don’t get enough credit for being polite.
“See?” Macropi beamed. “I told you.”
“You told me what it was, not that I’d like it,” she retorted, lightly spraying the woman with sprinkles. She covered her mouth. “Sorry.”
“Never mind,” Macropi replied, shaking her head and dislodging sprinkles from her tight white curls. “This is a big hit with the young ones where my folks are from.”
“Australia?” Lila guessed.
It earned her another broad smile. “Yes! Hardly anyone picks up on that.”
“Really?” Macropi’s striking coloring—dark skin, white hair, light eyes—in conjunction with the homemade treat right out of a Buzzfeed listicle (“Top Ten Australian Treats”, or “Find out what kind of fairy bread you are!”) indicated she could be of aboriginal descent.
“I live just over there,” she added, gesturing vaguely. “And I was so pleased when I found out the Curs House was being rented again.”
“Yours would be the purple house at the end of the block? With the purple birdhouse in front?”
“You’re very smart,” the woman said solemnly, then chuckled. Lila found herself smiling back, which was annoying.
“Naw. Just observant.” Lila had no idea what it was like in Australia, but where she came from, you paid attention or you got locked up. Or worse. “Did I hear you call this the cursed house?”
“It’s the Curs House,” she replied, emphasizing the name. “That’s who owned it back in the day.”
“The landlord’s name is Harriss.”
“Yes, well. The house changed hands now and again.”
“The price was pretty reasonable…” Lila trailed off, inviting gossip.
Macropi didn’t disappoint. “It’s always something with this place. Oh, don’t misunderstand, m’dear! It’s a wonderful house, and I’m so glad to see someone living here again.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yes. The Harrisses have been trying to sell it on and off for a decade or so, but every now and again, they’ll take it off the market and rent it instead. I can’t imagine having to make two mortgage payments, can you?”
Lila, who couldn’t imagine making one, shook her head.
“But something always happens, and then they have to clean up and try to sell it again. The tenants will get a new job halfway across the country. Or they’ll get a new spouse who doesn’t want to live in Lilydale.”
“Understandable.” Lila started to relax.
“Or murdered.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Or the basement floods,” Macropi added thoughtfully. “Or there’s another fire.”
“How many have there been?”
“Or the possums come back.”
“Are you serious?”
“Or they have a problem with all the wildlife coming up from the gorge. We’re right on a nature preserve, you know. There’s all kinds of creatures around.”
“Jesus Christ.” Then, because little old (?) ladies weren’t usually cool with blasphemy, Lila added, “Sorry. You surprised me.”
“Don’t worry, m’dear. I’m sure you’ll do fine. You said yourself, the price was right. And it’s so charming, don’t you think? Especially if you like wildlife.”
“It’s in a river gorge.” Plus it had a secret garden in the back. And the trees crowded right up to the fence, protecting everyone in the house. And mysterious hot men tended to show up out of nowhere. “How could I say no?”
Another beam. “Exactly! And big enough for you to fill with a family. You should meet one of my boys. He’s an accountant.” Macropi paused, considering. “Well, maybe not anymore.”
“What, he can’t hold a job?”
Macropi ignored the dig. “He would adore you.”
“That’s presumptuous,” Lila observed.
“Well, so is he.”
Lila laughed before she could catch herself. “How’d you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”
“How do you know you won’t like my Oz?”
“Who?”
“He has his own money, you know. He doesn’t have to work at all. He does, though,” Macropi added hastily. “He’s not lazy.”
“Excellent. I certainly don’t want to meet anyone who lives below the poverty level in squalid laziness.”
“You’re teasing, right, dear?” Macropi’s smile fell away as she cocked her head to the side like a rabbit listening for dogs. “Oh. I guess I’d better—you’ve got company.”